


locks, lox, lahks

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, marriage is..... sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3





	1. dein gesicht und mein gesicht könnten gute freunde sein

“You think your aunt Jeannie knows my dad is, uh, married to my mother?” Beyoncé whispers to Jordan as they sit and watch everyone at their wedding reception talk and dance.

 

“You think my aunt Jeannie is ever sober enough to know anything?” Jordan asks equally as quietly, huffing out a laugh.

 

Beyoncé giggles. “Mean.”

 

“You think everything is mean,” Jordan says with a playful scowl.

 

“Oh, yeah? When?”

 

“That time you told me to not be nice to you when we fucked last week and I told you to shut up and you stopped to tell me how mean it was.”

 

Beyoncé rolls her eyes and Jordan laughs with his whole body the way he always does, and Beyoncé notes the stretch of the fabric in his jacket over his strong shoulders. 

 

“You didn't get those last-minute alterations done like my mom told you to, did you?” Beyoncé asks, disapproving.

 

“In my defense, I look great,” Jordan says matter of factly.

 

“I know, you look sexy, and I love you, but Lord, Jordan- you look like an overdressed Chippendale dancer, baby, one more move in this thing and you're gone,” Beyoncé says, messing with his jacket and trying to take it off. Jordan resists. “It's hot in here, lemme take this off for you.”

 

Jordan shies away from her. “I’m kinda cold, actually- Beyoncé, stop-”

 

Beyoncé yanks his jacket down and immediately sees the seam on his dress shirt that’s at his shoulder ripped wide open. “Jordan,” she chastises, “oh my God.”

 

“Beyoncé, please.” Jordan coughs and the way his shoulders tense makes the rip worse. 

 

“Jordan,” is all Beyoncé can say, somewhat disappointed but also strangely excited.

 

Jordan shrugs his jacket back up and groans, slouching in his chair and tipping his head back. He turns his head toward Beyoncé, opening one eye and pouting. “I want cake.”

 

“I’ve never heard you say that in the five years we’ve been together,” Beyoncé says, shocked.

 

“It’s my wedding day, I can be fat,” Jordan tells her, turning his nose up stubbornly.

 

“Hey, I eat cake all the time, you callin’ me fat?”

 

“No, you’re thick,” Jordan reassures.

 

Beyoncé rests her head on Jordan’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Ullman,” Jordan says, rubbing her shoulder.

 

From the back of the room, her mother Tina in his lap, Beyoncé’s father, Mazen, roars at Beyoncé and Jordan drunkenly. “Bride and groom! Where’s your cake?”

 

“It’s not time for cake yet,” Beyoncé whispers.

 

“We can’t turn down your dad, though,” Jordan whispers back humorously.

 

“And turn down my father, we will not,” Beyoncé says through a smile, standing up and gently tapping her fork against her glass of champagne that was actually Jordan’s; she’d stolen it because he and any kind of thing one could get buzzed on were never a good mix while he was in public unless Beyoncé wanted to get dragged off to a bathroom or grabbed on in front of people she cared about but didn’t want to expose herself to in that manner. Jordan holds a mic up to her mouth for her. “Thank you, baby. I know that cake came later in rehearsals,  _ however _ , Dad is hungry for some and so are Jordy and I, so we’re gonna go ahead and cut into it.”

 

Cheers and whoops sound out from everyone at the wedding and Beyoncé and Jordan make their way to the three tiered cake. Beyoncé picks up the knife they’re supposed to cut the cake with and Jordan and his heavy hand comes to rest on hers, almost completely covering it. They cut the first piece of cake together and Beyoncé reaches for it, smashing it in his face. He shakes his head with a grin, laughing loud, shoulders shaking.

 

“Hold still,” she tells him with a giggle. When he obliges, she licks the frosting and cake off of his face, getting a little bit of her nude lipstick on his cheeks as she goes along. She turns to someone standing closest to her. “Can I have a napkin, please?”

 

Jordan makes a noise of refusal and grabs the frosting-covered hand she’s holding away from her dress, bringing it to his mouth so he can lick and suck the frosting off of her index finger earnestly. He looks her in the eye and moves to the next finger, his tongue circling it slowly before he sucks all of the frosting off as he slides her finger out of his warm mouth. 

 

“Jordan,” Beyoncé says bashfully, her cheeks a slight red. Her stomach drops when he bats his eyes at her and kisses the tips of her clean fingers. “Not here.”

 

Whoops and hollers and wolf whistles can be heard from the crowd and Jordan smiles, repeating the process with the rest of her fingers.

 

Beyoncé’s a full-on red now. “J, that's embarrassing.”

 

“You know, I snuck a glass of champagne or three. You got the good stuff,” Jordan says, licking his lips and smiling. He cuts them another piece of cake and everyone else rushes after him for their own pieces while he sits down next to Beyoncé with theirs.

 

Beyoncé digs in immediately and groans around it when it's in her mouth. “God, it's so fucking good,” she says, almost crying.

 

“I told you that you didn't have to go on a diet, all that showed in this dress before that was a little stomach, and it was cute, and I had enough money saved up to buy you a new dress, Bey,” Jordan says, rubbing Beyoncé's back as she eats.

 

“Fuck my fucking mother for being fucking skinny when she got married,” Beyoncé says. “But I wanted to wear her dress! Don't get me wrong on that.”

 

“Alright,” Jordan says, laughing.

 

“You want some cake, babe?” Beyoncé asks with a hiccup because she’s eaten too fast.

 

“Uh-huh,” Jordan answers.

 

Beyoncé gets a forkful of cake and feeds it to Jordan, who eats with a smile that she can't help but to return. “Good, huh?” Jordan nods emphatically and Beyoncé feeds him another forkful. “You ain’t even try it when we were supposed to be tasting a bunch of ‘em during planning. See what you missed out on? You act like you ain’t never had cake before in your life, boy.”

 

“It feels like I haven’t ‘cause I don’t eat it a lot, that’s why I am the way I am, and sacrifices suck,” Jordan mumbles through a mouthful of cake. “Strong men don’t eat cake.”

 

“It’s okay, big boy, I like you just how you are, so lay off the cake,” Beyoncé tells Jordan while she contradicts herself and feeds him more cake. Jordan giggles, almost choking, and Beyoncé erupts into a fit of her own while she pats him on the back. They spend minutes laughing with each other about nothing before Solange breaks away from Majid for a split second to tell Beyoncé that it’s time for her and Jordan’s last dance. 

 

“So, what song did you pick?” Beyoncé asks. She'd let Jordan pick the last song they’d dance to himself since he hadn't been able to be around as much for wedding planning because of work.

 

“It's by that girl you like,” Jordan says, his hands on Beyoncé's waist as they stand in the middle of the room alone.

 

“Mariah Carey?  _ Vision of Love _ , huh?”

 

Jordan shakes his head, smiling. “I’m not  _ that  _ predictable, am I?”

 

A dreamy instrumental floats through the room and Beyoncé grins. “Of course you’d pick  _ Underneath The Stars _ .”

 

Her and Jordan begin their gentle sway, and as Beyoncé's looking into his eyes, she's knowing more and more that any lifetime spent without him is a lifetime wasted.

 

* * *

 

 

Jordan carries Beyoncé into their house, kissing her as he steps over the threshold. Beyoncé has a burger in one hand and her soda is in the other.

 

“Our Uber driver was nice,” Beyoncé comments, taking a bite of her burger.

 

“Is your food good?” Jordan asks, sitting her on the kitchen counter.

 

“Try some,” Beyoncé says, holding the burger out for him to get a taste of. He takes a bite and instantly, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he sighs, mouth full as he begins to speak.

 

“It's so fucking good,” he moans, barely audible, “fucking… thick. Yeah, thick, holy shit-”

 

“Sometimes I wonder how you react to food so weirdly and then I remember that a more muscular you just swallowed up the fat you and said, “Bitch, starve!”” Beyoncé interrupts.

 

“I haven't had a burger from Sonic in a year and a half.”

 

“Jordan, oh my God,” Beyoncé says with a frown. “That’s just criminal.”

 

Jordan reaches behind him to get a bottle of water he’d left unfinished and drinks the rest of it and shakes his head. “It’s tragic, really.”

 

Beyoncé frowns as she chews her burger, but her face relaxes seconds later. “Know what I want?”

 

“What do you want?” Jordan asks, taking Beyoncé’s heels off for her and slotting himself between her legs, hands on the counter on either side of her.

 

“The first thing I want as your wife is to get fucked,” Beyoncé says confidently.

 

“You wanna get fucked?” Jordan asks with a laugh.

 

“Plowed, if you don’t prefer “fucked.””

 

“Plowed?” Jordan asks, snorting.

 

“Screwed.”

 

“Oh, wow. Screwed, huh?” Jordan’s shaking his head, clearly amused.

 

“Yeah. Slammed, even.”

 

“Slammed? Wow, you must be serious about this, Beyoncé.”

 

“‘Cause I am!” Beyoncé exclaims, a hand coming up to grab Jordan’s face. She looks him dead in the eye. “Fuck me- and I say this with one-hundred percent sincerity- within an inch of my life. It’s only right.”

 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” Jordan says, laughing. He starts pushing her dress up despite his comment, running his hands up her soft thighs and digging his fingers in when he leans forward to press light kisses down her neck. 

 

“Don’t “Jesus, what the fuck?” me, Jordan. I want you to fuck me,” Beyoncé says.

 

“Alright, alright.” Jordan says, sinking to his knees, his voice beginning to be muffled by the layers of fabric from her dress, “I will, baby, no rush.”

 

“I’m rushing you,” Beyoncé says, taking a bite out of her burger.

 

Beyoncé sees her dress shake a bit. which means Jordan’s finding humor in her statement. He pulls her underwear to the side and licks at her, tongue flat and broad, before getting frustrated at something. He rips at them quickly and Beyoncé grins. She's about to get the life fucked out of her, and she knows it. Jordan wraps his arms around her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. He sucks on her clit, his beard pricking at the inside of her thighs, and Beyoncé almost chokes on her food when her breath hitches in her throat. She frowns.

 

“I can't see you,” Beyoncé complains, her mouth full.

 

Jordan's head pops up from under her dress in a flash. “What?”

 

Beyoncé swallows her food. “I can't see you!”

 

“Oh,” Jordan says, drawing out the syllable, “And what do you suppose we do about that?”

 

“I’m too lazy to take my dress off.”

 

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

 

“Stop being a geek and fuck me,” Beyoncé whines.

 

Jordan laughs and Beyoncé hands him her hamburger so she can unbuckle his belt for him and pull his pants down. He helps himself to her food. She snatches her burger back, scowling playfully.

 

“ _ Hey _ , leave my food alone and worry about getting your dick out,” Beyoncé fusses.

 

“Bossy and rude, who’d I marry?” Jordan asks, a thumb hooked in the waistband of his boxers. Beyoncé eyes the strain and stretch of the fabric across the front, and she wishes Jordan would stop acting like this was the time to play games and be silly. She’s about to throw a good fit if events in the next minute don't include her getting fucked.

 

“You say that like I’m acting brand new,” Beyoncé huffs.

 

“You’ve got a point,” Jordan says as he pulls his boxers down. He pushes into Beyoncé slowly, and his eyes seem to search for something in Beyoncé's. She puts a hand on his shoulder to keep herself steady and upright, looking back at him; his pupils are dilated, mere specks in the sea of hazy blue-almost green, but not quite- that makes up his eyes. Jordan's brow furrows, and he exhales a sigh as he pulls out, and Beyoncé wants to fuss.

 

“Tell me you feel what I’m feeling right now,” Jordan says, leaning forward and pressing his palms to the cool counter on either side of her as he starts fucking her slowly, roughly, but not enough for her to complain. 

 

“How do you feel?” Beyoncé asks, her hand leaving his shoulder and finding the back of his head, fingers tangling in the gelled hair there. Quick breaths feel as if they're snatched out of her lungs, in the air with Jordan's.

 

“Like none of this is real.”

 

“It's too good to be true, huh?” Beyoncé asks. 

 

 

Beyoncé and Jordan stay in the same position on the counter for what seems like an eternity before Jordan pulls out of Beyoncé and steps out of his pants, which stayed around his ankles while he made her come twice.

 

“When's round three?” Beyoncé asks, sipping on her watered down soda.

 

Jordan looks taken aback for a second before he chuckles. “I’m not gonna complain about that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“At least my wife is crazy about me in some way,” Jordan says with a smile.

 

“Annoying,” Beyoncé says, drawing the word out and laughing.

 

“How about this: I’ll give you three- though two was clearly more than enough for you- if you let me mess that dress up,” Jordan offers.

 

“Done,” Beyoncé says confidently, head held high. It’s hers now anyway, and it’s not like her mother is going to ask her about it- she hopes.

 

Jordan grabs the dress by the neckline and rips it down to the waist. “Good deal.” He finishes tearing at the dress and Beyoncé lifts her hips so he can slip it from underneath her and leave it on the kitchen floor. He's on his knees again, kissing up and down her thighs and then tasting her, making her inhale sharply because she's so sensitive. He licks her quickly and determinedly, pushing a finger into her as he goes and adding two more when Beyoncé asks him to. When he complies he curls them up as they go into her and she whines loudly, tightening around them. He keeps it up and she pulls at his hair, moving against his fingers and mouth messily. Her toes curl and she feels like she could cry again, seeing as she's pretty close to doing so anyway when she lets out gasps and moans of Jordan's name while she tries not to embarrass herself by coming quickly. 

 

“I don't have to just hope I could hear that for the rest of my life anymore, fuck,” Jordan breathes, sounding amazed and kissing Beyoncé's thigh, fingers still moving in and out of her quickly. “It's not possible that you could be anyone else's anymore.”

 

He said it with such confidence, without any consideration of things between them taking a turn for the worst, and Beyoncé shared that confidence. She would tell him how she's his and how he's her everything, how the world would stop turning and the sun would stop shining if she had to ever leave his side, but she's in a situation at the moment that has her tongue tied.

 

“Jordan” and a whimpered “fuck” are all that Beyoncé can manage to say before she comes. Jordan eagerly tries to lick at her while her hips lift and she tries to move away from his mouth because she feels like anything more from him would kill her. He stands up and kisses her hard; she tastes herself on his tongue. He stops kissing her to put two fingers in her mouth, sucking them clean and saving the last one for himself. He hums as he tastes her again and rests his forehead on hers.

 

“I love you,” he says quietly.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” Beyoncé replies.

 

“Too good to be true,” Jordan says.


	2. other girls might call you schatz

"You know how much it weirds me out when I can’t see you, Beyoncé,” Jordan complains as Beyoncé lies on the couch, her face in a pillow. “It’s so-”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Beyoncé groans, annoyed. Why does he always have to talk so much? She appreciates the kindness, but she’s not here for that at the moment.

“If you’d have let me finish, I would’ve said I was lying and that I don’t give a shit,” Jordan says, “C’mon, champ, ass in the air.” He laces his arms under Beyoncé, pulling her up at the waist.

“Anyway!” Beyoncé exclaims with a roll of her eyes, biting her lip when Jordan’s inside of her. “Fuck.”

“You still wanna get fucked, right?” Jordan asks, not moving and shushing Beyoncé when she whines and tries to move.

“Jordan-” Beyoncé starts, trying to fuss.

“Do you wanna get fucked?” Jordan asks insistently.

“Yes,” Beyoncé says, pushing up against Jordan. “I do.”

“Do you wanna get plowed?” Jordan asks humorously, fingers digging in Beyoncé’s ass as he pulls her to him and pushes her away slowly.

“Yeah,” Beyoncé tells him with a sigh.

“Screwed?”

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“That's rude,” Jordan says, faking offense. He holds Beyoncé still and starts to go deep, taking his time and rolling his hips, and she gasps quietly.

“Fuck you,” Beyoncé says.

“I’m busy, maybe later,” Jordan jokes. “Now, tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“You already know-”

“I said to tell me. Use your words.”

“I want you to- Jesus-” Beyoncé cuts herself off when Jordan slaps her ass, and she can't tell if he was being purposely rough or just heavy-handed as usual. “I want you to fuck me ‘til I can't walk.”

“So you wanna get fucked silly, huh?” Jordan asks in an almost patronizing tone. “Just got fuckin’ married and all you can think about is getting fucked.”

Jordan isn't making Beyoncé feel very nice or special at the moment, and somehow it's making her want for him worse.

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Jordan says, pulling Beyoncé up by her hair and thrusting into her more quickly and roughly, “so shut up and let me do it.”

Beyoncé racks her brain for a response, and the only one she finds is a mumbled “fuck.”

Jordan grunts in Beyoncé's ear and gives one hard thrust, making her mouth hang open mid-gasp and the couch move slightly. Dumbly, Beyoncé tries inching forward on her knees despite Jordan holding her where he wants her, and he gives her another rough, singular thrust. She gasps again as if she's about to cry and he pushes her face back into the pillow.

“Christ, what's it gonna take to get you to learn to stop fucking running from it? Shit,” Jordan exclaims, roughly grabbing Beyoncé's ass as he fucks her at a consistent pace that would be decent if it weren't for the fact that she felt as if she were near death. She tries to move away again, attempting to deny herself the overwhelming feeling threatening to wash over her.

“Didn't I just tell you to stop trying to run?” Jordan asks, annoyed, beginning to fuck her so roughly and so fast that she starts crying. He grabs her arms and holds them straight out behind her back.

“Please,” Beyoncé manages to cry. Jordan ignores her, going a slight bit harder than before and Beyoncé is seeing stars while she comes with a yell, shaking and screaming and clawing at Jordan's wrists when he doesn't let up. He stops just as he's pressed into her deep, and she loses the arch in her back, moaning raggedly at how rough he’s being despite how sensitive she is.

“Oh, God, oh, God, no, fuck no, Jordan,” she whispers. It fades into a shout when he pulls out just to push back in again and shift his hips teasingly. She feels it in her toes. “You can't do that-”

Jordan pushes her back down so it's arched again and pulls out completely, his breathing hard. “Yes I can.” He’s quiet for a moment and Beyoncé's mind wanders; maybe he was thinking about how the day he's had is real, or how in love with Beyoncé he is, or-

“Fuck it. Turn around,” Jordan says.

“What?” Beyoncé breathes out.

“Turn the fuck around and lay on your back.”

Beyoncé pulls herself out of her uncomfortable position to lay on her back, and within no time at all, Jordan has her holding her legs behind her head. He pushes into her slowly, working himself up the the same rough rhythm with a low sigh and holding onto the arm of the couch for support.

“Jordan,” is all Beyoncé can say; she feels as if she's going to have an out of body experience, almost. She stares at him, mouth agape as she cries and they and the couch shake and groan.

“You like how you’re getting fucked?” Jordan asks. Beyoncé almost loses her mind when she notes the hint of actual care in his voice. She whines in response.

“Use your fucking words, Beyoncé, strong fucking marriages are built on communication,” Jordan grunts, punctuating his curses with hard thrusts that make her scream until her voice cracks.

“I love it,” Beyoncé answers

“Gonna come for me again?” Jordan asks.

With the way Beyoncé is crying over every single stroke, any answer other than a negative one would be a lie, so she nods. Jordan grabs Beyoncé's legs, holding them up and making them resemble an ‘x,’ and he keeps fucking her.

“I’m so grateful for you,” Jordan tells Beyoncé with a sigh.

“Why?” Beyoncé shakily gets out.

“You’re a good wife and a good fuck.”

Beyoncé doesn't know why, but the way Jordan simultaneously builds her up and reduces her to her sexual ability makes her come another time, and this time Jordan follows, groaning her name as he comes in her. They spend a few minutes coming down from their highs and looking at each other.

“You good, champ?” Jordan asks, pulling out and falling back on the other side of the couch. Beyoncé is immediately crawling on top of him and straddling him, lazily peppering his face with kisses.

“Jordan, you’re gonna have to carry me to bed on a stretcher,” Beyoncé says, amazed.

“Thank you?”

“I should be thanking you.”

“Marriage is such a fucking trip, holy shit-”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, kid.”


End file.
